The Monk and the Princess
by Scriptor Sapiens
Summary: While riding out in the wilderness, Merida gets herself into trouble and is rescued by a young, Irish monk.
1. Chapter 1

_Merida was originally supposed to save Brendan, but this works out better because it lets Brendan be more than the little kid who needs constant saving and it takes Merida out of her element of castles and into a more personal environment to get to know Brendan. Tell me what you think!_

The day was new. A light mist had covered the valley, and the scent of fresh dew wafted its way up the nostrils of every person in the castle. The morning was calm, the only sound was that of the earliest of birds who were waiting for the early worms to show themselves. A butterfly alighted on a flower, delicately sampling the nectar. Finding it to her liking, the insect fluttered her wings contentedly and began to sip the sugary fluid.

She barely had enough time to react when there was a great noise of creaking hinges, oak panels sliding, and great hooves rapidly advancing. Beating her wings frantically, the butterfly barely escaped the metal-shod limb that came crashing down on the flower that she had been sitting on. Landing on the ground slightly dazed, she never saw the bushy-red-mop and Clydesdale duo streak past her and into the woods.

Unaware of the consternation that she had just caused, Merida let out a whoop as Angus soared over a log. She urged him to go faster, and Angus complied by going into a gallop that rivaled a rabbit in speed. Holding on tight, the princess pulled out her bow and knocked an arrow, scanning for her target. She saw it, dangling from a tree, and let the arrow fly. It slammed into the target with a satisfying thud, sending splinters into the woods. The red-haired rider let out a contented chuckle and began to search for the next target.

Fifteen targets or so later, and Merida was down to her last few arrows. The sun was rising over the hills, stretching its reaching beams through the trees and dappling the area. Breathing the scent of morning, the princess dismounted, gently patting Angus' shanks. The great horse neighed softly before turning his head to the ground and munching on some clover. Food was the furthest thing from Merida's mind. Taking a moment to observe the area, she realized that she had never been in this clearing before. The area was filled with short grass, and the trees on all sides looked to be oaks. Perhaps the largest oaks that Merida had ever seen. Their trunks were huge, at least ten feet in diameter, and their branches soared into the sky, but never leaned too far over the clearing. In the middle of the clearing, there was a menhir, one of the great, mysterious stones that dotted the highlands. On it was written a strange phrase.  
This language was unknown to Merida. She could make no sense of it. She stepped closer to get a better look.

_Bheidh eagla, is anseo an áit Crom Cruach_

Her brows furrowed. It was like the old language of the Highlands, but subtly different. The markings were engraved into the stone, but not as lovingly as one might expect. The chaotic arrangement of text reminded her of what Hubert's papers looked like when he was writing and was startled. _Fear._ And below the writing was a symbol: a circle, surrounded by an eight pointed star, surrounded by another circle, and then a third circle.

Merida suddenly felt a chill run over her body. The clouds seemed to move in over the clearing, and an unnatural cold swept in like a wave on the ocean. Goosebumps erupted on her skin, and a creeping feeling of impending doom began to squeeze her soul like a great hand. Stumbling back, she began to move toward Angus. The horse seemed to be, if anything, more perturbed than she was. He pawed anxiously, letting out a whinnie. He turned sideways, offering the stirrups to Merida. He was ready to leave, and quite frankly, so was she.

As she raised a foot into the stirrups, she heard something behind her: "Going somewhere missie?"

_Great. Just great._

Turning her head, she saw a man leaning on one of the oak trees. He was tall, burly, and wore clothes that might have better suited a scarecrow than a man. He had a leering, lopsided grin on his stubble covered face, showing off a less than perfect dental array. On his belt was a sword, easily as tall as Merida herself, and in his hand he held a bag. It jingled softly as he stood from his leaning position. "It's a beautiful morning," he said, the smirk on his face growing

.  
Merida rolled her eyes and mounted Angus. "Yes, too beautiful to remain here," she said, gently kicking Angus' haunches, encouraging him to trot. Angus suddenly balked. Merida turned to see another man materialize from the mist. Dressed like his companion, and just about as large, Merida turned her gaze back to the leering one behind her. "You don't want to do this, friend."

The man drew his sword slowly, letting the grating sound ring through the woods. "Do what missie? All we want is some company."

Merida gulped quietly. Discreetly, she knocked an arrow, and gave the string a bit of tension. There were two men now, and she had two arrows. The shots would have to be perfect. "Last warning," she said. "Go now, and we can all enjoy this lovely day."  
She saw the man make eye contact with the other, and without hesitation, she drew the bow string and fired. The brigand was caught in the chest, stalling his flight path and dropping him onto the ground. Angus reared in alarm, letting out a wild call as Merida drew her second arrow and knocked it, taking aim at the other brigand. To her surprise, there was a new one standing by the first. The momentary surprise caused her to release the arrow prematurely, sending it into the first brigand's arm. He yowled in pain as the third man lunged for Merida. She pulled a foot from its stirrup and delivered a kick to the brute's face. Suddenly a burning pain erupted on her scalp, and Merida felt herself being pulled from the saddle by her own bushy red tangles. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, in one stroke she sliced through the attacker's clump of hair and blocked his sword. Alighting on the ground, she gave a hard shoulder into the offender, who was still clutching a clump of her hair in his hand. He tumbled to the ground as Merida spun to block another blade. Spinning and weaving, her sword flying through the air and glinting in the sunlight, Merida did a rough count of assailants.

_One,_ as she ducked under his battle axe.

_Two,_ as she blocked his sword.

_Three, _as she landed a kick to his knee

_Four, _as she was blocked by his shield.

_Five, _as she sidestepped a blow from a club the size of a large dog.

_Six, Seven, Eight,_ as she made a 360 degree turn, dodging six, swiping at seven, and blocking eight.

_Nine,_ as he locked her blade with his. "Shooting me in the arm," he snarled. "Not a good idea missie!"

And she believed it. There was murder in those eyes, and she knew that she was outnumbered. Sure, she could take any one of them in a fight. Heck, she could even take Fergus the Bear King in a fight, but there were just too many men to keep track of here. Too many swords, too much dodging, and now the sound of Angus whinnie-ing in fright were all just too much for her to handle. But she would take as many of them down with her as possible.

With a loud grunt, she shoved the man's sword from hers and made a stab. He deftly blocked it and struck for her neck. Bending low to avoid it, she stood immediately afterwards and blocked a blow from another, spinning to block a blow from behind. Sidestepping the club again, she slashed at the owner, who jumped clear with his life, but with a large gash across his shirt-front. Blocking another stab, she twisted the blade free from her assailant's hand and struck again at another man, the one with the arrow in his arm. The swing took the stubble from his face, and Merida might have smiled, had someone behind her not savagely kicked her knee. With a cry, Merida felt the joint bend in a very unnatural way. The momentary distraction that the pain caused her was enough for another man to give her a dizzying punch to the face. The ground promptly received her head with stony greetings, and what chance she had of regaining her advantage was lost in the swirl that was the world through her addled mind. Someone grabbed her by the jaw, hoisting her off the ground. The world began to resolve itself again in her vision, and she saw that the man so un-gently holding her was using his good arm to do so.

_This is going to be bad._

An evil smile spread across his lips. "Now, missie, this could have been a lot easier," he said. His hot breath rolled over her like a breeze at low tide. She gagged from the stench, but it served the purpose of bringing her to her full functionality, such as realizing that the man holding her was holding a _very_ sharp looking knife in his other hand. "It think that you could do with a little lesson in humility! What say you to that boys?"

There was general consensus of growling that confirmed to Merida a 'yes' had been given. Her captor held her tightly, and began to move the knife to her face. "Let's start with the-"

What he was about to start with, Merida never found out, because at that moment, the man's eyes suddenly rolled into his head as a loud crack went through the air. He released Merida, and slumped to the ground in a heap. Behind him stood a red-headed man, about her age, clad in brown robes and brandishing a freshly used staff. Both she and the thugs stood frozen for a moment. Their brains were still trying to comprehend their leader lying unconscious on the grassy floor.

The red-headed boy nodded at her. Suddenly she remembered the sword at her feet, and dove to retrieve it. As she did, the boy leapt over her and brought his staff down on an unsuspecting thug's head. He fell with a grunt at Merida's feet. She raised her sword to deliver a _pax dei_, when a hand grabbed her arm. It was the boy.

"No," he ordered. "Don't kill him! It will only make it stronger!"

"What stronger?"

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the menhir behind her. "Crom!"

Merida was about to demand an explanation, but was promptly cut short by a sword-strike aimed at her head. She blocked it, and with a groan, sufficed for a knock-out punch rather than the killing-strike that had been offered. Behind her, the boy was doing extremely well against the brutes. Using the staff as a weapon or as a pole-vault, he had downed three thugs already. Not to be outdone, Merida stepped up her game. Favoring her leg only slightly, she whirled like a red-headed demon into the melee. She blocked and struck in fluid motion. A dodged sword strike lead to a swift kick or a shoulder bash. The boy behind her blocked a sword with his staff, letting the sword embed, and then twisting, yanking the weapon from his assailant's hand and the striking him with the butt end. In the span of what felt like a few seconds, the thugs were down, groaning on the floor like pathetic babies.

Glancing at the boy, she gave him a smile. 'Not bad," she said.

He gave a slight smile. "Well, one must learn these things on the open road."

Merida turned and took a step, about to thank the boy for his help. Her knee suddenly filled with fire, and she fell to the ground with a cry. The boy was upon her immediately.

"Miss, are you hurt? What's wrong?"

She managed to hiss something about her knee through the pain. Lifting her skirt, the robed red-head inspected her knee. Ordinarily, such an action would earn a deft kick in the face, but she could see nothing but the pain right now. He said something to her, something along the lines of "I have to do this, don't kill me." Had she been in the right frame of mind, she might have asked what he was about to do, but never got the chance, because he demonstrated then and there how to put a dislocated knee back into place. Merida let out what could best be described as the girly-est scream in her life, and white hot pain flashed though her body, but it was followed by a feeling of great relief. Dimly, she was aware of being lifted to her feet, and being asked for her horse's name. She answered, and found herself upon Angus' back moments later. As the horse began to move, she dimly wondered whether or not she was about to be kidnapped as consciousness was lost.


	2. Chapter 2

_So, after seeing some pictures of Evan McGuire, the voice of Brendan in SOK, I can suddenly believe that Brendan could be a capable fighter. Google him, you'll see what I mean!_

It was a very coarse mattress. It seemed a foolish thing to notice, especially when she became distinctly aware of a throbbing pain in her knee. She tried to remember what

had brought her to this extremely uncomfortable bed.

Vaguely, she remembered the menhir, and its curious markings. She recollected the feeling of dread, and then the goons that had attacked her. Then there was the boy, and after that...

_Ohmygosh I've been kidnapped._

_Play it cool_. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened. There was a soft patter of rain outside. Some time had passed since her abduction. There was a soft purring. Obviously her kidnapper likes cats. There was another sound in the room. It was...scratching...a quill?

_Perhaps he likes to keep a diary._

Cracking one eye open, Merida glanced at her surroundings. It was a small, poorly decorated hut. The one window had no curtain, or glass for that matter, but it let in the cool breeze from the rain storm outside. There was another bed in the room, but it was unoccupied. At the foot of her bed, was the boy. He was sitting at a desk, a large candle casting its golden glow onto his face and his work: a large book. Next to his desk was what looked like a sophisticated alchemy set, and on the desk there were several bottles of fluid. Her mind immediately jumped to what horrible things might be in those bottles. Poisons, witch's brew, any number of things that an insane kidnapper might use on his victim. All of these things brought one question to her mind?

_How do I get out of here?_

An idea popped into her head. It might be low, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She let out a quiet moan, as if she had just woken up. Immediately, the quill scratching stopped.

Silence.

Merida let out another groan, and turned her head like an injured person might do.  
Keeping her eyes closed, Merida listened. A chair scratched across the floor, and footsteps approached the bed. She felt a pair of hands on her injured leg, gingerly handling the throbbing knee.

That was when she brought her other knee into play. She had been aiming for where she thought his head would be, but instead felt burlap robes on her leg. She heard a loud grunt, followed by the sound of items crashing on the other side of the hut and a loud hiss from a cat. Merida's eyes flashed open, surveying her handiwork. The boy was sprawled on the floor, rubbing the point on his head where he had smacked it into the wall. Next to him, amidst the stuff that had been upset when the boy had hit the table, was a white cat, apparently just as dazed as its human companion.

Throwing her legs off the bed and standing, Merida searched for a weapon, and saw her sword resting on her bedpost. Odd though it was for a kidnapper to leave such a weapon close to his victim's bed, Merida wasted no time in seizing the thing.

Dazed though he might have been, cold steel on one's neck does wonders in terms of bringing someone to full awareness. Such was the effect on the red-headed boy when Merida employed the technique.

"Easy, easy lass!" he said, backing up a bit to relieve the pressure from his neck. "No one is going to hurt you!"

Merida stalked forward, keeping the blade at his throat."Where am I!?"

"You are in my hut," he said, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the blade. "I brought you here-"

"To ransom me no doubt!" She snarled.

"No!" he cried, his accent becoming more and more pronounced. "I brought you here to heal your leg!"

Merida paused. Giving him a warning glance, she looked down at her knee, using her free hand to lift her dress. Lo and behold, her knee was wrapped in gauze, and smelled strongly of several herbal anti-inflammatories.

Giving the boy a wary glance, she pulled the sword away from his throat. "Alright, so you healed my leg. Can I go now?"

"You are free to go at any time," he said, slowly standing up. "But I would not recommend it. Your knee will not support you for any long distance, and it will keep you from riding your horse...Angus, wasn't it?"

Merida nodded, peering out the window to see Angus contentedly munching on some oats beneath several saplings, all bound together and the spaces between filled in with more branches, protecting him from the rain. "Did you make that?"

The boy nodded, brushing some powder off his robes. "I saw the storm coming while you were asleep, so after I set your leg, I made a shelter for your horse. He's wonderful really. Didn't try to bite me once."

Merida smiled appreciatively. "That's Angus for you."

The boy also smiled at her. Then, crossing from the window, he righted the table and began to pick up the things that had been spilled. Merida also moved to help, but the boy instead moved to her, blocking her way. "You need to rest that knee, lass. It'll only cause you trouble if you stay on it."

Merida pursed her lips. The boy, however, did not move. Sighing with defeat, Merida returned to the coarse mattress and sat down. "You remind me of my mother."

The boy shrugged before returning to the scattered pile. "Are you hungry? I have a quail roasting on the spit."

The princess' stomach growled loudly, answering for her. She grinned sheepishly. "Just a little bit."

Putting the last box back onto the table, the boy moved over to the small hearth, currently housing only coals, removing from it a golden-brown bird. The smell of it made Merida's mouth water. The boy moved to a cupboard and retrieved two wooden plates and wooden cups. Placing the bird and the cutlery on the table, the boy pulled up two chairs and poured drinks into the cups from a waterskin.

Merida smiled gratefully as she seated herself, taking a drink from her cup. "So, what were you doing out there, mister...?"

"Brendan," he said. "Call me Brendan. And you are?"

"Merida," she replied.

He nodded, tearing a piece off the bird, and handing it to her. "Well, Merida, I was out gathering supplies when I heard the noise that you were making. Those poor fools didn't know what they were dealing with," he finished with a chuckle.

Merida swallowed her mouthful of food, which was not bad, with a small snort. "Well, if it weren't for you, I would have been in deep trouble. Who were they anyway?"

"Worshippers of Crom Cruach," Brendan growled. "You happened upon one of his sacred sites, though I had thought his cult was limited to my home country. They seek human sacrifice for him, and they do not care where they get it, which is why I asked you not to kill them."

"Your home country?" Merida inquired. "I have noticed your accent."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Is it that obvious?"

She nodded with a smile.

"Well, yes," he replied. "I come from Ireland, Kells to be specific."

"What brings you all the way out here?"

"My master once lived on the island of Iona. He wished to visit there."

"Your master?" Merida inquired.

"Aidan of Iona," Brendan explained. "I am his apprentice."

Merida nodded, understanding. "Where is he now?"

Brendan cast a glance out of the window. "He went to a town to get more lamp-black. Most likely, he has taken shelter there from this storm."  
Merida nodded. She noticed a concerned expression coming over Brendan's face, and decided to change the subject. "You said that you were his apprentice. What does he teach you?"  
Brendan paused. "He teaches me many things. Principally, he teaches me to be an illuminator."

"Illuminator?" Merida had never heard of such a trade.

Brendan nodded and opened his mouth to speak, then he seemed to think better of it. "I think," he said standing from the table, "it would be best if I showed you."  
Merida stood also and followed him to the desk that was at the foot of her bed. On it lay a book,and around it lay an assortment of bottles and quills. "This," he said, laying a hand on the brown covers, "is the book that will turn darkness into light."

Merida shot him a skeptical glare. Brendan gestured her forward. Reaching out, her fingers had barely touched the covers when it felt as if she had been struck on the face by a white hot iron. Staggering back, she recovered and looked again at the book. The white cat that she had knocked over earlier was now perched upon the tome, sternly gazing at her with one blue and one green eye.

"Pangur," Brendan scolded. "She means the book no harm. Let her see it."

The cat glanced from her to Brendan and back, not moving from the spot.

"Try it again, Merida," Brendan urged, giving her a gentle push forward.

Hesitantly, Merida moved forward again and stood before the cat. It's mismatched eyes peered into her soul it seemed, and it seemed to be searching for something in her. "Please," she whispered to it, extending a palm to it. "Let me see it."

The cat suddenly brightened, jumping to her shoulders and rubbing itself on her head. Despite its less than welcome introduction to her, she found herself smiling as it purred. With the cat still perched on her shoulder, Merida reached forward again and gently peeled back the cover. As a member of the royalty, she had been taught how to read, and so the Latin texts came to her somewhat easily, but she did not see the words.

She saw the illuminations.

It was like looking at the world as a blind man who can suddenly see. The ink seemed to be alive on the pages, flowing from one place to the next, changing colors as it went. The patterns were so intricate, it seemed to perfect to be human. Celtic knots wrapped themselves around the pages, animals froliced in the lines, men and women worked and lived, and all of this on the few sheets of vellum she had seen.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she found herself speechless.

"This book has been under work since the days of Colm Cille himself," Brendan explained. "At his death, he passed it on to Aidan, and now Aidan has passed it on to me. I have been working on it for several years now."

Merida looked incredulous. "_People _made this?"

Brendan laughed quietly. "Yes, mere mortals like us made this."

Merida reached out her hand and gently touched the page. The vellum felt smooth and crisp beneath her fingers, but not dead like most seemed to be a crackle of energy between her skin and the pages, as if the book itself were alive. Whether or not this was just her imagination, she would debate later. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "And your addition?"

Reaching past Merida, Brendan flipped several pages. "This is called, the_ Chi Rho_ page. It's not finished yet, but I'm waiting to get a bit more experience before I do."

There was a knock on the door, and Brendan stopped turning pages. "That must be Brother Aidan. It's strange that he's back so soon, especially in this rain."  
Brendan moved to the door. Merida returned her gaze to the page, about to lose herself in the images again, when she noticed that the cat, Pangur Ban, was not on her shoulder anymore. He was hiding under the bed.

It was then that she noticed that Angus was entirely silent.

"BRENDAN, NO!"

But it was too late.

The door was off its hinges, taking Brendan with it all the way to the floor. Through the door stepped the same man from the menhir, the arrow from his arm still clutched in his fist. His eyes still burned with fury, and the bruises on his head were still very fresh. Stepping through the threshhold, he placed one boot firmly onto the door, trapping Brendan underneath.

"Hey there missie," he growled, the evil grin spreading across his face.

"Merida, run!" Brendan roared.

Merida, however, had no intention of leaving. The sword, which, Merida realized, she had never dropped, was immediately raised into a defensive position.

The man let out an evil cackle. "You think that I would repeat my mistakes?" Leaning in on the door, he put more weight on Brendan's chest. The red-headed boy choked and rasped. "Surrender now, and I won't crush him."

Merida faltered, if only slightly.

"No Merida! They'll just kill us both! Go now!" Brendan managed to gasp out.

The thug in the house silenced Brendan by adding more weight.

Merida paused to analyze the situation. The brute was standing in a position that jeopardized his defensive position, but all he had to do was lean forward a bit more and he would crush Brendan like a bug. _Unless..._

Merida dropped the sword, letting it fall to the floor. She heard Brendan hiss angrily, and saw a confident smile spread across the thug's face. Very discreetly, she grabbed a bottle of ink. She took several steps forward, waiting for the opportune moment.

It came when the man on the door shifted slightly backwards. Winding her arm back, she lobbed the bottle and caught the intruder right between the eyes with it. He staggered back with a yowl of pain, and Brendan seized the opportunity to push the door off himself, knocking the man completely over.

Now standing, Brendan seized his staff and knocked the man unconscious with a single strike. Merida moved up to them, standing next to Brendan and over the unconscious thug.  
"Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it," she replied with a smile.

Brendan turned to look at her, but his face turned to one of horror. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but it was too late.

Merida realized that she had turned back to the door as she felt the impact on the back of her skull.


	3. Chapter 3

_New record. Knocked unconscious two times in one day._

It was of little consolation to Merida now as she was roped to a beam by her arms and being carried back towards the menhir by two of the men she had previously knocked out in a brawl. They looked pleased to see her, and not in a good way.

She had been awake for some time now. When she had come to, it had been a time full of the sound and the fury. She had come alive and fought and screamed and scratched like a wild-cat, but after knocking out the two who were originally carrying her beam, she had been grabbed by two much more capable captors. It had gotten pathetic after that, so Merida had sufficed for becoming dead weight and dragging her feet in the mud. The rain had stopped some time before, but it had left its mark on the road by filling it with mud, and the sun was still obscured by clouds, but had definitely fallen in the sky. Night would come soon

_Maybe Dad will come looking for me?_

Certainly he would, and Fergus would call upon Lords MacIntosh, MacGuff, and Dingwall to aid in the search, but all in vain. By the time Merida would be missed, the deed would be done, and there would be nothing to find except a body.

So now, a headache splitting her head, sopping wet from the recently ended rain, caked with mud, the great princess of Dun Broch castle and her horse were being dragged off by a crowd homicidal maniacs to be done God-knows-what with.

They were in the clearing with the menhir now. More men had appeared, many holding candles, all wearing black hooded robes, and one holding a long, cruel looking knife. Beneath his cowl, Merida could see two eyes, glittering with anticipation.

_Great. _

The men carrying her had stopped. The men in hoods had gathered in a circle, the menhir at the head, and standing directly in front of it was the man with the knife. A ripple of whispers ran through the assembled men as the knife-wielder stepped forward. All fell silent when he raised his hand.

"Brothers," he said, his voice clear but aged, "we gather here in the presence of our sublime leader, Crom Cruach, to offer him tribute, as his law demands!"

The crowd roared with approval. Merida shivered from more than just the chill of her wet clothes.

The knife-wielder raised his hand again. "Today, by providence, we have been delivered something special! By the grace of Crom, he that assailed us shall pay! I present to you: BROTHER BRENDAN OF KELLS!"

If the crowd had roared before, Merida was at a loss for what to call the response which followed that sentence. The crowd came alive and whooped and hollered like a wolf pack at a kill site, fists were raised into the air, and the few coherent words Merida could make out were all cries for blood. Turning her head, she saw Brendan produced from the hoarde, bound as she was, robes caked with filth like hers, and unlike her, wearing a face of serene hatred.

The knife-wielder now approached Brendan. "For those of you who do not recall, it was _this_ boy that profaned the Temple! His order cast us out of Ireland, starting with the demon Patrick, and now on to him! It was he that wounded our master. It was he that stole _THE EYE OF CROM!_"

Delving a hand into Brendan's pocket, the man pulled out a small, translucent crystal, the facets and markings on which matched the carvings on the menhir. The crowd booed and yowled as the crystal was held aloft. Merida feared that what little order was maintained at this gathering might be lost, or perhaps that was the intention.  
Returning his gaze to Brendan, the knife-wielder said quietly: "What say you to this, boy? Is not vengeance sweet? Will you recant?"

Brendan's eyes narrowed, and he whispered something to the knife-wielder. Obviously, it was not a recant, because the knife-wielder's face contorted into a grimace of rage, and he back-handed Brendan across the face. "The boy still profanes us! Teach him a lesson, men!"

The men seemed to have been awaiting this phrase, because before the word "a" had been completely uttered, the mob surged in, some wielding clubs, others with their bare fists, but no matter what they used, it all boiled down to a crazed frenzy trying to land some kind of blow on the captured monk.

Lesser girls might have wasted their energy on trying to escape again or scream and bawl enough to make a river, and lesser boys might have bleated like a lamb with each blow, but neither Merida nor Brendan did either. Merida averted her gaze, trapped and useless as her friend was savagely beaten by death-worshipping pagans.  
It seemed like forever, the frenzied screams and sounds of flesh being pummeled, but it eventually stopped.

The mob stepped back at the gesture of the knife-wielder, some of them wearing bruises of their own, having stepped too close to their target for their own good. They all filed back into their circle, revealing their handiwork to Merida.

Brendan was covered with bruises, abrasions on his skin, several cuts leaked red blood onto the grassy earth. His robes had been torn in several places, especially around his torso, which seemed to have taken the brunt of the attack. Several clumps of red hair littered the ground, and seeing as none of the mob had red hair, it had to be Brendan's. His face was, by some miracle, spared of most of the damage, although one eye had been ringed with black, and a large cut now lined his jaw.

The knife wielder seemed satisfied by this. His face bore a smug grin as he observed the world through the crystal lense. "It is amazing, how much one can learn from a single lesson. For example, I have just now learned that this young brother has a very high tolerance for pain."

He stooped low and used the flat of his knife to lift Brendan's chin, looking him in the eyes. "Further, I think that his own pain is nothing to him. But what of others'?"

That got Brendan's attention. His half-closed eyes snapped open, apparently horror struck at the suggestion.

The knife-wielder grew a cunning smile. "Oh yes, he cares more for others than he does for himself. An admirable quality."

He turned and gestured to the men holding Merida's beam. They moved forward, bringing her to Brendan's view. "So, the little brother got himself a woman! I did not know your kind allowed that!"

"I'm not his woman," Merida snarled.

The blow came suddenly, with no warning or hesitation from the knife-wielder. He had simply reached out and slapped her across the face. It was an entirely new sensation to Merida. She had been punched in combat before, but never slapped as she just had been. She had no idea how to react, and so simply stood there, dumbfounded.

"You will speak when spoken to, wench!" the knife-wielder spat.

Brendan's legs began to churn. He seemed to be making an attempt to get up. The scowl that the knife-wielder had displayed to Merida eased itself into a satisfied grin as he turned back to face Brendan. "That made you angry, didn't it?"

The boy responded with a growl that might have been words had his lungs not taken such a severe beating.

"Then," the knife-wielder said, rising from his squatted position, "I think I know just how to do this."

He pointed a long finger at Merida. "Take her to the altar."

The crowd let out a roar of approval, and Merida felt herself being lifted from the ground. She heard Brendan trying to stand, his lips forming words that could not be understood, and the jeers from the crowd, mocking him. Then she felt the cold stone of the menhir scaping her back as she was dragged on top of it. The beam was removed, but her hands were quickly bound together and tied to a stone, and her arms pulled above her head.

The knife-wielder now stood above her, but still looked at Brendan. "Keep looking, boy. I want you to watch her die! I want you to see her writhe, and listen to her screams! Only _then _will I grant you death's sweet release!"

"NOOOO!"

Finally, a coherent word from the maimed monk. If anything, it strengthened the knife-wielder's smile. He turned his eyes skyward, beginning an oath: "Ancient Crom that gives us milk and corn..."

"Brendan," she said, hoping that he would hear her over the noise of the ritual. "Don't be afraid."

"Ancient Crom that sends us rain..."

"Don't be afraid, Brendan!"

"NOOO!"

"Ancient Crom, accept our offering!"

Merida closed her eyes as the knife was raised. Silently, she wished goodbye to her mother, her father, to Hamish, Hubert, and Harris, to Maudie and to Angus, and then to Brendan out loud: "Goodbye."

"_Uimh_!"

All activity froze, even the knife-wielding priest. The voice was Brendan's, but not Brendan's all the same. Opening her eyes, she managed to see the captive brother on the ground. He raised his face and repeated the word: "_Uimh._"

The face was no longer his own. It was pale white, with no trace of color on it, and the new coloring had taken with it all of the bruises and blemish so recently given. His eyes were now solid, glowing yellow, and his whole body emitted a red-orange glow. Rising to his feet, Brendan broke both of his arm bonds as if they were made of cobwebs. The wooden beam hit the ground with a loud _THUNK_, although the loudness might have been in large-part due to the dead quiet of the congregation. Merida looked to the priest, whose face told her that he had no idea what to make of the situation either.

"_Scaoileadh di!_," he ordered.

Suddenly, the knife-wielder came to his senses. "Stop him, you fools!"

The men, needing no second bidding, lunged. In a way that seemed too perfect to be anything less than arranged, Brendan cut loose on any unfortunate thug who came within range, kicking, punching, and whirling wildly. Merida was, for some reason, reminded of a buck, especially when Brendan lowered his head and charged into a group of fully armed men, and sent them all careening into their fellows. The other men, after watching fourteen fall like dead trees in a stiff wind, dropped their swords or candles and fled as fast as their feet could carry them.  
The knife-wielding priest stood, his hands still clenching the knife with his hands, albeit a bit less steadily than before.

"_Scaoil an scean_," Brendan said. It sounded like a command, but it was all gibberish to Merida.

Whatever the order was, the knife-wielder did not obey. His grip on the knife suddenly tightened, and he raised it high over Merida's chest. "I will make you suffer, boy!"

"_Na dean e_!" The order was a bit more forceful this time, and Brendan was closing the distance between himself and the knife-wielder.

The latter grew a wild look, pulling his arm back as far as it would go. He began to bring it down with a crazed "FOR CROM!"  
Suddenly, Brendan was there, leaping over Merida and the altar and tackling the robed man. As he flew backwards, the man released the knife. It plummeted downward, and Merida used all the strength and flexibility in her body to bend out of the way. The knife clattered into the stone and bounced off into the grass.

All of that happened in the span of two seconds.

Turning her head, she saw Brendan standing over the robed man. The pale, glowing boy stood stock still, apparently not even breathing. The man on the ground gave a few heavy pants.  
Then he made the foolish attempt to punch the boy standing over him.

That ended with swift kick to the face that rendered the once grand cult leader unconscious.

"_Amadan_," Brendan muttered.

Turning, he moved to Merida's side, siezing the ropes that bound her and snapping them with ease. "_An bhfuil tu ceart go leor Merida?_"

Confronted with a completely foreign language, Merida made a guess as to what was said. "Uhm...I'm fine?"

The answer seemed to satisfy Brendan. He offered her a hand and helped her off the altar. The glowing limb was hotter than she expected, as the paleness of skin usually indicates a chill. "Are _you_ alright, Brendan?"

"_Ta me brea_," he replied, nodding his head. Suddenly, the glow around him ebbed, his eyes turned blue again, and he slumped into Merida's arms. "I'm fine," he said, leaning his head into her shoulder.

Angus, who had been tied to a tree this entire time, moved to her side, and Merida sighed. She was completely lost, and her only guide was now passed out on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" A delicate, child-like voice spoke from behind her.

She turned to see what looked like a white girl, similarly colored to Brendan. She had long, straight hair that dragged the ground, and bright, bright green eyes. By her side, was Pangur Ban, the cat.

"Yes, I'm f-...who are you?" Merida paused to consider the relevance of the question.

"Get onto the horse, and I will explain at the hut!" said the girl. "We must leave before they come back!"


	4. Chapter 4

They were back in the hut now. The sun had set, and the only light came from the fire, recently energized with fresh logs to burn. The warm glow flooded the room, and the quiet pop of the logs burning helped to keep Merida's mind off what had happened that day.

The mysterious girl, who had introduced herself as Aisling, had, after considerable pushing, managed to pull Brendan onto Angus, and then helped Merida onto his back. Angus had followed Aisling without question, plodding along as if there was nothing wrong. The white-skinned girl had lead them straight to the hut in the woods, and had helped Merida carry Brendan up to the threshold, but had balked at going through the door, asking Merida to carry the boy the remaining distance to his bed. She had done so, and Aisling had disappeared into the darkening woods in search of medicinal herbs.

Aisling had been gone for some time. Brendan no longer groaned in his sleep, instead lying completely still. Every so often, Merida would check to see if he was still breathing. She was presently sitting in one of the chairs in the hut, watching the kettle that now hung on the hearth, brewing tea.

She might have dozed off, had the chair been a bit more comfortable.

Poking his head through the window, Angus gently nuzzled Merida's cheek. She stroked the short fur on his snout, wishing that she had an apple. The horse, despite all opportunities to flee, had stayed. Looking into his eyes, she saw more than just the pleasantly dim look that most horses had, but a warm intelligence, which was probably why he was nuzzling her now.

"How is he?"

Aisling appeared at the window from nowhere. Merida dove for her sword, and Angus leapt away from the window with a frightened whinnie. This did not appear to affect Aisling in the least; she had not moved in all of the commotion.

Putting her sword down, Merida moved up to the girl in the window. "He's fine for now; he's sleeping much more peacefully than before."

Aisling peered past her to look at Brendan. She looked wistfully at the sleeping boy, as if she were seeing a beautiful jewel that was just out of reach. Turning her gaze back to Merida, she handed her a leaf-wrapped bundle, tied by a small, white flower. "It's willow bark for the pain and honey for the wounds. I also found the Eye for him."

Merida accepted the parcel and set it down on the table with a word of thanks. Turning to face the window again, she first checked on Angus, who was anxiously pawing the ground nearby, then she faced Aisling. "Now, who are you?"

"I'm Aisling," she answered. "I knew Brendan in Kells."

"Why are you all the way out here?"

The pale girl blushed a slight bit, however obvious it was because of her pale skin, before answering. "I wanted to check up on him. I haven't seen him for a while, and I was getting lonely."  
_It appears that they knew each other very well_, Merida observed. "How did you find us?"

"Him," Aisling said, pointing at the cat which was lying on Brendan's chest. He had been asleep, but he now gazed at Aisling like one does when recognizing an old friend. "Pangur found me and brought me to the Dark One's menhir. I arrived right before they would have sacrificed you. I wanted to help, but none of of the wolves heeded me, and the men all used iron weapons. I used a spell to give Brendan the strength you needed to fight off the men."

"A spell?" Merida had learned well the dangerous side-effects of magic spells, and began to take a step away from the window.

Aisling let out a laugh like a peal of bells. "No, not magic like the Woodcarving Witch."

"How do you know about that?"

Aisling stifled her chuckles. "She and I are old friends. I was there when she first played with the fire that is magic, she even asked me for advice on several occasions."

For some reason, Merida had trouble imagining the Witch as either young or standing with this pale, mysterious girl. "So, what magic?"

"The woods magic of my people," Aisling replied. "I asked the Stag Spirit to give Brendan strength to defeat the Dark One's men, and the Stag Spirit complied."  
She paused and cast a glance at Brendan. "I doubt that he will have any recollection of it."

"Will he be alright?" Merida queried, fearing that Brendan might sprout antlers at any second.

"He will be fine," Aisling assured her. "I can't wait to tell him when he awak-"

Aisling froze. She seemed to be listening intently to something. Suddenly, she turned her wide-eyed gaze to Merida. "I must go, now. Promise me that you will bring the medicine to Brendan!"

Merida gave a confused look. "What's wrong?"

"Promise me!" Aisling repeated, more forcefully than before.

Merida searched Aisling's face. Fear, but hesitation. She wanted desperately to stay, but knew that she had to leave. "I promise Aisling!"

And she was gone.

The mysterious, pale Aisling had disappeared, as if she had never been there.

The door behind her creaked open.

Seizing her sword once more, Merida spun to face the intruder.

The man at the door was of an advanced age, garbed in robes similar to Brendan's, except that his were white. A pair of dark blue eyes peered out at her, and a mane of silver hair fell from the man's receding hairline. He raised his hands and took a step back. "Hey, lass, I mean no trouble, I just thought that I lived here."

She lowered her sword a bit. "Are you Brother Aidan?"

The man nodded his head.

The princess sheathed her blade. "I am Merida," she said.

Aidan smiled warmly at her. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of having such a lovely house-guest?"

Merida stepped aside, letting Aidan see the unconscious teenager on the bed.

"Brendan!" Aidan exclaimed passing Merida and falling to his knees at the boy's side. "Brendan, are you alright!?"

The boy groggily opened his eyes. "Hello Brother Aidan," he whispered.

The aged man clasped one of the younger's hands. "Dear boy, what happened?"

"It's a long story," Brendan said with a smile. "I'll tell you all about it later. Is Merida still here?"

Merida started to move forward, but suddenly she stopped, remembering the parcel. Snatching it off the table, she knelt next to Brother Aidan, pulling the white flower off, causing the leaves to unfold. "Brendan," she said, "We have medicine for you, and the...Eye, crystal thing that they took."

Brendan looked first at her with a grateful look in his eye. Distantly, she wondered if he would ever know who delivered them. Aisling obviously wanted to keep a low profile, judging by her reaction to Aidan's approach, and she would never be able to get Aidan away from him now.

Brendan extended a hand, reaching towards the crystal. To Merida's surpirse, he went completely over it, and instead picked up the small, white blossom that had once bound the parcel. He held it delicately, gently gripping the stem with two fingers. A large, contented smile split his face. He looked to be in complete bliss.

And as several wolves howled in the night, Merida realized that Brendan knew who had delivered them.


End file.
